


Drabble: That We Are

by DerangedLychan



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24297844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerangedLychan/pseuds/DerangedLychan
Summary: I wrote this YEARS ago and thought I lost it when I purged my ffn account. Found in a buried folder and uploading for safekeeping.
Relationships: England/Russia (Hetalia)
Kudos: 37





	Drabble: That We Are

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this YEARS ago and thought I lost it when I purged my ffn account. Found in a buried folder and uploading for safekeeping.

It was always like this when they had sex; fast, unaffectionate, raw. It was fucking, not making love. It was too ages-old countries ridding themselves of stress and hurt in the most primal way. It was centuries of war and tyranny washed away in a simple act. It was only after they’d finish that they stop and offer each other the gentle touches, the soft words, the fingertips over the scars littering their immortal bodies.

England. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Once the British Empire, was just Arthur Kirkland.

Russia. Formerly the monarch of the Soviet Union. The land where winter never ends, was just Ivan Braginski.

There were no more wars, no more politics, no more foreign policies, only them, and the sound of their deed.

Arthur gasped quietly, raking his nails down Ivan’s scarred chest as the larger nation’s hips pistoned violently against his own, jolting him with each thrust. Large hands held his hips still, their grip bruising, but neither cared.

Ivan’s teeth were at his neck, his collar, his chest, everywhere they could reach, and leaving harsh marks in their wake, earning feral growls and moans from the man below.

There were no words exchanged as Arthur finished with a garbled moan, throwing his head back and arching against Ivan, and the larger nation followed suit, burying himself inside the other and filling him.

He pull out and lay beside the Island Nation on the conference table, pulling him close. Arthur shift his weary body to lay against him, head on his chest.

“Do you remember, during the Cold War, how you would cut my troops off and stir trouble?” A thickly accented voice ask. A chuckle responded.

“Yes, it would end something like this every bloody time.” A British lilt sounded from the broader man’s chest.

“Da, and Cuba’s reaction was priceless.”

“Indeed, as was that frog’s.” 

“And when you decide that aiding me in the Nepolionic wars wouldn’t be profitable?” No bitterness in his voice at being abandoned, just mild amusement. 

“Yes, and I remember vividly not being able to walk properly for almost a week after I told you.”

They lay in silence a moment, breathing having steadied. A chill scamper up Arthur’s spine as the sweat on his body cool. “Look at us, a couple of old men reminiscing about wars over and done with. I may choke on the nostalgia.” the Russian respond by sitting up and looking down at the more petite nation.

“Da, but that is what we are, nyet? Countries older than we need be, not as strong as we should be.” Arthur sat as well, meeting his violet-colored gaze and sighing.

“That we are, old chap.” He smile faintly, almost sadly. “That we are.”


End file.
